Incomprehensible Influences
by Sorrel
Summary: AU fic, where Spike left town instead of going to the Scoobies for help in “Pangs.” Buffy’s dead, Angel’s in Tibet, Spike's finally found someone who makes him feel alive again, and Wesley’s found someone to keep him safe and sane when he needs it most.
1. The Set Up

**Chapter One.** AU fic, where Spike left town instead of going to the Scoobies for help in "Pangs." Buffy's dead, Angel's in Tibet, and Spike has finally found someone who makes him feel alive again- and Wesley's found someone to keep him safe and sane when he needs it most.

* * *

****

Life was a darker thing without blood.

Oh, he kept himself fed, but bottled animal blood had no life, no fire at all. It made the world fade around him. Sometimes he lost the ability to see in colors for a while, and it felt more and more as if the world had truly faded to gray when the chip had been forced into his brain.

He could have stayed in Sunnydale. He knew he could have made it there, even if the place had seen some of his most outstanding failures. And then one day he'd caught himself actually considering going to the Slayer and her little friends for help, and he understood how truly pathetic he'd gotten.

So he'd left. After taking stock of his situation, he'd packed up his meager belongings (the few that Harmony hadn't been able to find to burn), bought several days worth of blood, and gotten the hell out of Dodge. He'd headed to Brazil with the vague hope of finding Dru, but soon realized the hopelessness of that and drifted a little. The lush heat of South America revived him for a little while, but it soon faded away, and so after a year or so he headed north again, looking for the vivid night life that large American cities had to offer.

So here he was, back in California yet again. At least he'd landed in LA this time, instead of that godforsaken Hellmouth that was so cursed for him, but that was a small consolation, considering that his track record in Angel's city wasn't particularly great either.

He was only here because he was desperate, anyway. New York had been fun for a bit, but it was filled with dirty poverty that had only sped up the growing grayness inside him. He had hopes for LA- they had just as much dirt and poverty, but they covered it up with glitter and flash. Not high hopes, though. There wasn't enough glitter in the world to really raise his hopes.

Alcohol and the finest drugs that money could buy, and some that couldn't be bought, hadn't worked. Nights spent in clubs where bodies pressed in from all sides and the music made your heart throb in time, if it actually beat of course, hadn't worked. The only time he really felt alive- so to speak- was when he was balls-deep in some pretty-faced girl or boy.

Hence LA. The man seated across from him wasn't particularly pretty-faced at all, though. Not to say he wasn't attractive- he was- but "pretty" wasn't the word that came to mind as Spike watched him stare meditatively into his beer. The lines of his face were clean and smooth and elegant, but the elegance was marred by the harsh stubble shadowing his jaw and the exhaustion lurking in his eyes.

He was gorgeous, Spike decided, but not with the bright American prettiness that always made him think of cheerleaders and backyard cookouts. He looked... mature. Not old, just old enough to have learned that the world wasn't pretty, and experienced enough not to blush and stammer when someone came onto him.

"You've been staring for ten minutes," the man said, without looking up from his beer. "Ever since you sat down, in fact. Are you going to give me your name, at least?"

"Will," he said, faintly surprised at himself even as the name left his lips. Couldn't hurt to be cautious, but there were a million and one other names he could have chosen besides that one.

"Wesley," the man said, his accent upper-class British though his voice sounded tired, and looked up from the mug in his hands for the first time. His eyes were a soft gray-blue, and Spike rejoiced in being able to see the color, and the rich dark brown of his sweater, and the red highlights that the low lighting picked out in his hair. Rejoiced to have found someone so captivating that the colors were all coming back to him, in a glorious rush, just from watching this man, and listening to him say a few words. How much better would he be if they actually shagged?

"And now we know each other's names," Wesley said into the following silence, while Spike tried not to let his eyes be drawn by the bright flash of the brilliant purple tube-top that the blonde at the next table was wearing. His voice snapped the vampire back to the man in front of him, and he blinked once as he tried to catch up. "You came over here for a reason, Will. Go ahead and ask."

Deciding that he didn't mind the name "Will" when Wesley said it, though it would have been his own damned fault if it had bothered him, Spike said, "Well, it's like this. I saw you over here, the lights shining on you, and you looked all alone-"

"I said to go ahead and ask, not feed me insincere bullshit," Wesley interrupted. "If you're going to try to give me a line, I'm not interested."

"Direct," Spike said. "I like it. Wanna shag?"

"Sure," Wes said, and went to pay for his beer.

* * *

****

Things had been going fine, Spike thought in disgust, until they actually started undressing.

They'd walked the short distance to the hotel where he was staying in silence, walking a reasonable distance apart and not touching. And when they'd gotten to his door Spike had unlocked and opened it with one hand while he'd fisted the other in the front of Wesley's t-shirt and pulled him over the threshold and into a kiss.

They'd kissed for a few minutes, while Spike kicked the door shut and maneuvered them over to the bed. And then he'd pushed Wesley down onto his back and had kneeled over his body, knees sinking into the plush softness of the comforter as he'd peeled Wesley's shirt up. The other man had raised his arms accommodatingly, so he could throw the shirt to the side, his own shirt following in short order.

And then Wesley had pulled something out of his pocket, and before Spike could think, "But you don't _need_ a condom," Wesley had slapped the cross against his chest.

Spike cursed and dove off the bed, rolling when he hit the floor and coming up to his knees with his game face on.

Wesley propped himself up on one elbow to study him objectively for a moment before he muttered, "What is it with me and vampires?" and went off the other side of the bed to look for his shirt.

"Do you do this to all your dates?" Spike wanted to know. "Or am I just special?"

Wesley shrugged philosophically and picked up his shirt from the floor, where it was huddled next to the closet door, looking very much like a small brown animal. "Usually I take them back to my flat," he explained, his voice muffled briefly as he pulled the shirt over his head. "So the test is usually the threshold. Of course, the fact that your skin is exactly room temperature was a bit of a giveaway."

Spike stared at him for a moment. Wesley looked rumpled and somehow sexier than before, and Spike made and abrupt decision that he would probably regret later.

He let his features slide back to human and stood slowly, hid hands up in an attempt to show he meant no harm. "My name isn't really Will," he said. "It's Spike."

"Not really reassuring to know that I'm stuck in a hotel room with a particularly _vicious_ killer," Wesley said. "Rather the opposite, in fact."

"You know who I am?" Spike asked, surprise jolting him temporarily out of his intent to reassure Wesley that he was safe enough to sleep with.

"I am- I used to be a Watcher," Wesley told him, and Spike heard the swift change of tense but decided not to comment on it. "You're rather infamous. Two slayers and all."

"That was before the Initiative commandoes put a chip in my head," Spike started, ready to give the whole, "can't hunt, can't feed, can't hurt," speech that had become smooth and practiced after a year and a half of use.

But Wesley's expression brightened a little before he got the chance, and he said, "That's right, she told me."

"She?" Spike said, totally mystified, and Wesley told him, "A friend of mine, she hears things from Sunnydale, sometimes."

Silence filled the room after that, heavy and somewhat oppressive, until Spike sighed, held out one hand, palm up, and asked a question.

"Still wanna shag?"

"Why not," Wesley said, and took his shirt back off.

* * *

****

The lobby of the Hyperion looked particularly huge and empty to Wesley when he got there the next morning, and he was grateful for Cordelia's presence when she showed up a few minutes later.

It took exactly seven minutes and twenty-three seconds for the gratefulness to wear off and the irritation to set in- he timed it. She started by complaining that someone had messed with her filing because she couldn't find someone's file- when she found it on her desk, where she'd left it the night before, he wisely said nothing. Then she moved on to bitching about Angel leaving them in the lurch for the second time.

He actually agreed with her on that one, but was still tired of hearing it because she'd been saying it every chance she got for the last four days. She'd been understanding for the first week after he left, but that had worn off with her first vision, when they'd barely made it out alive.

Wesley didn't get truly irritated, however, until she started in on him. He didn't know how she knew- as far as he could tell it was some sort of built-in radar- but she knew he'd had sex the night before. Thank God and all the Powers that she didn't know _who_ he'd had sex with, but she definitely knew that the event had occurred. And once she'd gotten that meaty bone between her jaws, she absolutely refused to let go.

"Cordelia," he said, his voice overly patient, "Why must you obsess over my sex life? _My_ sex life," he emphasized. "Not yours. Thus not your business."

"I don't have one," she pointed out with her usual twisted pragmatism. "You do, so I'm interested in yours. I have to get my vicarious thrills from _someone._"

"Cordelia," he said again. "Go to a bar. Let some good-looking man buy you a drink. Charm him. Dazzle him, even. It's what people do in this city."

"Is that what you did?" she asked curiously. "And by the way- not doing that again. No more demon pregnancies for me."

"I bought my own drink, and he said, 'Wanna shag?' and I said yes and went to his hotel room to have sex."

"He?" Cordelia's face twisted into an amusing mixture of fascination and horror. "You're gay now? Why did you never see fit to share this newsflash?"

"I've always swung both ways, as it were," he said bemusedly. "It's not exactly new information."

"Well, it is to me," Cordelia snapped. "Damn it, Wes, you don't just spring something like that on a girl."

"Next time," Wesley told her rather smugly, "keep your beak out of my sex life."

One hand flew protectively up to her nose, so her outraged shriek of "_Beak?!"_ was somewhat muffled. Wesley nevertheless decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and beat a strategic retreat.

* * *

****

Spike felt stupid, sitting at the bar and hoping Wesley might show up. Just because he was here last night doesn't mean he'll come again, you stupid sod, he sneered at himself, but since they hadn't exactly traded phone numbers that morning, he didn't have any way to find him again, short of stalking around the city, showing a picture of him- which he didn't have- to any passersby.

His number was _not_ in the phonebook. Spike had checked.

He was on the verge of giving up when he saw Wesley at the door, wearing a sort of blue-gray sweater-thing and a pair of blue jeans with scuffed brown boots. He looked clean-shaven today, and not a jot less sexy for the loss of the stubble. The sight of him cheered Spike up almost immediately.

It was only a second before Wesley spotted him- Spike knew he stood out in this cozy neighborhood pub like a sore thumb- and Spike saw his eyes widen, then crinkle up at the corners in a smile as the ex-Watcher started making his way through the crowded floor of the pub.

"I didn't think I'd find you here tonight," Wesley said, sounding a little breathless. "This doesn't seem to be the sort of place you'd go with any sort of regularity."

"Nice, quiet evenings aren't really my style," Spike conceded with a shrug, "but I couldn't think of a single, sodding place 'sides this one to look for you."

"Oh," Wesley said, and flushed a little with pleasure. "Well. I'm rather unused to someone wanting a phone number."

"I had a good time last night, pet," Spike said carefully, watching as Wesley dug through his pockets for something. "You seemed to be havin' a good time too. I figured you might be interested in-"

He stopped when Wesley pulled out a pen and a business card. "So it won't happen tomorrow," Wesley explained, scribbling something on the back. "I'm writing down my home number, but I can be reached at the business number on the front." He handed the card to Spike. "I'd prefer if you identified yourself as Will rather than Spike if you do happen to call at the Hyperion."

Spike didn't answer. He was staring at the card, barely able to believe what he was seeing, and getting the sick feeling in his gut that Fate was fucking with him again. "Bloody hell," he whispered hoarsely. "You work for Angel."

"Well, technically he works for me, though it's irrelevant at the moment as he's out of the country. It's hard to believe you honestly didn't know. There's a bit of a dearth of living ex-Watchers in California, you know."

"I've spent most of the last two years in South America," Spike said tightly. "Not really up on Sunnydale gossip."

"Oh." The confused frown remained on Wesley's face. "I'm sorry you found out like this, then. If I'd known I would have told you sooner."

"When, exactly? Before or after we shagged each other senseless?" He shook his head with a bitter laugh. "Just as well you didn't. If I'd known you were one of Angel's, I never would have touched you."

He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back, and stalked out the door. Wesley buried his head in his hands, wondering why he ever fucking bothered. He left a few minutes later, and never noticed that the business card with his phone number on it had left the bar in the pocket of Spike's jeans.


	2. A Relationship

**Chapter Two.

* * *

**

If Wesley had thought the lobby of the Hyperion was too large the day before, this morning it seemed cavernous. Cordelia was already there, but she wanted to know why he hadn't been home when she'd called the night before. That particular question put him in such a foul mood that he answered with a short, "Out," and retreated to his office, shutting the door with such exaggerated care that even Cordelia could see how much he wanted to slam it, and left him to brood in peace.

He wasn't unaware of the irony. _Angel_ was the one who holed up and brooded. But then, it seemed like Angel was rather helplessly mired into every single aspect of his life now, so he wasn't too surprised to find himself emulating one of the vampire's less endearing traits.

Of course, Angel was currently off doing his brooding in a monastery somewhere in Tibet. And somehow, he was _still_ managing to ruin Wesley's life.

Wes groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Angel had been gone for over two weeks now, and during that time they'd had gotten three visions and one walk-in client. Wesley had dealt with all four incidents, with Gunn's help of course, but after the last he'd found himself sore and lonely and in need of a beer. Then Spike had wandered into the picture and he'd found himself sore in much better ways, and for one night at least, he hadn't been lonely.

And then Spike had found out about his connection to Angel, and that was the end of that. Now he had to sit here, a carbon-copy of the vampire that was currently fucking up his life past all measure from thousands of miles away.

Distantly he heard the phone ring, but he ignored it, since Cordelia was the one who dealt with the phones. The only time Wesley was needed was when-

"Wes? It's someone who says they need to talk to you in particular."

She hadn't even bothered to knock, just talked through his door like it wasn't shut. He sighed and contemplated ignoring her.

"It's someone named Will- says he needs to talk to you about last night."

He was at the door in a flash, and she smirked at him as she handed over the phone. He took it, smiled very politely, and shut the door very firmly in her face.

Back at his desk, he raised the phone to his ear and said a tentative, "Hello?" As if he was half-afraid that Spike had changed his mind and hung up.

"It's me, luv," Spike said from the other end of the line. "I'm, um, calling to say 'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Wesley asked faintly, having expected almost anything but that.

"Yeah," Spike said, and Wesley guessed that he was grimacing at the phone. "Sorry for taking off on you like that. It's just... Angel... bit of a sore spot with me. Wanker manages to mess up my life at every turn without even trying."

"I can understand that," Wesley said with a faint smile. "Better than you know."

"Maybe. Tell me about it."

"Why?" Wesley asked. "Not that I mind, really, but... Why?"

"Want to know about you, is all," Spike said. "Like you. Wouldn't have called if I didn't. Figure if you want to complain about the Great Pouf there's no one better to do it with."

"Simple enough," Wesley conceded. "How about this. Meet at my apartment tonight, and we can talk without Cordelia listening at the door."

There was a surprised yelp and a scuttling noise as Cordelia fled the scene of her crime, and Spike's chuckle rolled down the line. "Sound good to me, pet. Say, eight o'clock?"

"Of course," Wesley said, and hesitated for a moment before he said, "Goodbye then," and hung up the phone.

The knock came on the door a couple minutes later, when he'd already buried himself in one of his texts, and he called out an absent, "Come in," assuming it was Cordelia coming to interrogate him. It was in fact Gunn, checking in to see if they had anything for him to do that day. They didn't, so he wandered out after saying something about cleaning some of the swords. Wesley saw Cordelia starting towards him, her expression intent, and made an abrupt decision and shut his door.

Then locked it.

* * *

Spike leaned back against the wall of Wesley's flat, his arms crossed over his chest. He'd had a hard time finding the place- Wesley hadn't given him directions or even an address, and since he hadn't wanted to call back and practice his horrible American accent on the lovely Cordelia, he'd had to go to the cyber café he like and do a reverse lookup on the phone number Wesley had given him. Turned out that Coffee and a Byte wasn't that far from Wes' place, so he'd just stayed there for an hour or so before heading up here.

He heard footsteps on the stairway, and a minute later a tired-looking Wes came into view. He smiled as soon as he saw Spike, causing Spike's own smile to warm a couple degrees.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Wes said as he came closer. "Were you waiting long?"

He rested one hand on Spike's arm when he asked the question, and Spike had to hide the pleasurable shiver the action gave him. "Nah," he answered easily. "Couple minutes, tops."

"Good," Wesley said. His hand left a little patch of warmth on Spike's skin when he moved it to unlock and open the door, and it didn't fade until they were inside with the door shut and Spike was shrugging out of his coat.

They went through an awkward social dance as they tried to get settled, and ended up on the couch, both of them barefoot and down to jeans and t-shirts. Wesley had gotten them both beers- real, English beer, not the watered-down American tripe- and they sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, just quietly enjoying each other's company.

"Right," Spike said finally, rolling his head to one side to look at Wesley. "We're here to share our pain over my dandy of a Sire."

"He's not here."

Confused, Spike asked somewhat stupidly, "Who's not here?"

"Angel," Wesley said morosely. "The Slayer died, and now he's off somewhere in a monastery."

Spike actually raised himself up on one elbow in his astonishment. "The Slayer died? First, I wanna know who offed her so I can shake 'is hand, but more importantly, why the hell is the pouf off somewhere when he got his little mission here? In a bloody monastery, no less?"

"I think it's in Tibet," Wesley said. "Though really it could be anywhere. He went there to deal with his grief over Buffy- she was killed during a battle with a Hellgod, by the way, and Glory was killed as well, so I doubt you'll be able to shake her hand."

"Shame about the goddess," Spike mused. "Though I've never though much of the 'destroy the world' thing that Angelus was so fond of. Always figured he hadn't thought this thing through. I mean, what would we eat?"

Wesley stared at him for a moment, then gave into the laughter that had been threatening since the beginning of Spike's little speech. The vampire relaxed a fraction more next to him, and aimed a soft smile his way when Wesley's chuckles wound to a close.

"Better," he said softly. "Not so grim. Good to see you laugh, pet. Should do it more often."

And just like that, all trace of amusement was gone from Wes' face, leaving a kind of resigned sadness. "Haven't really had reason to for a while," he said quietly. "Not since we came home to find Willow waiting with bad news. I knew Buffy too, of course, but I find myself grieving more on Angel's behalf... or maybe I'm just upset that he's gone and I'm left holding the bag. Again."

An audible growl came from Spike at that. "You mean the wanker took off and left you to do his little hero bit? And you've had to do it before?"

"He fired us, this winter," Wesley said. "We continued to fight the good fight, despite the fact that he refused to do so."

"Wanker," Spike growled. With an abrupt switch he said, "Right, that's it. No more about my sodding Sire. We've got better things to do."

"I'm sure we do," murmured Wesley, and tilted his head the scant inch that was need to brush his lips over the vampire's own.

Spike hummed happily, and kissed him back.

* * *

Wesley came home the next night to find his door unlocked and Spike on his couch, boots on the coffee table and tv on. Spike held up his lock picks before Wesley could ask, and the man sighed before hanging his coat up and joining Spike on the couch.

Spike handed him a beer, then moved a couple inches closer and leaned into him. Wes sighed again, and rearranged them until Spike was half-curled against him, with Wesley's arm draped over his shoulder. Spike made a little noise of satisfaction, then stole the remote and changed the channel.

Wesley was late into the office the next morning, late enough that Gunn was there before him, which was saying something. Cordelia sneered at him when he came in and said, "Late night?"

"Yes," he said honestly, because Spike had proven to be very bad at actually letting him go to sleep, and had also woken him up when he left, an hour before dawn. "But I also had to run an errand." He held up his newly-copied key as proof.

"Wes already have keys," Cordelia told him, proving that she wasn't a quick this morning as she usually was. He bared his teeth amicably and said mildly, "I didn't copy it for you."

She recovered quickly though, and said, "Your new boyfriend gets a key to your apartment already? Moving a little fast there, aren't ya, cowboy?"

Wesley ignored the sound of Gunn chocking on his coffee and said, "Yes, it's for Will, and no, it's not too fast, because if I don't give him a key he'll just pick the lock again."

"Again?" Cordelia said, arching one eyebrow. "Got yourself a wild one, doncha?"

"Boyfriend?" Gunn was saying, since he'd regained his power of speech. "You're fucking guys now?"

"I'm have sex with Will, yes," Wesley answered calmly. "Why, do you want to meet him?"

Cordelia's enthusiastic, "Yes!" was drowned out by Gunn's heartfelt, "Hell, no! I meet this guy I'm not gonna be able to stop the images that I'm blockin' right now."

"Don't worry, I won't subject you to such a horrible fate," Wesley said dryly, and wandered into his office with his coffee.

Behind him, he heard a slap that sounded like Cordelia's hand meeting the back of Gunn's head, and a hissed, "Dumbass! Now I'll never get to meet him!"

"Haven't you ever heard that curiosity killed the cat?" Gunn demanded, and in his office Wesley smiled, and fingered the key in his pocket.

Spike's face when Wesley handed him the key was priceless, and resulted in some of the best sex of his life. They rocked along comfortably together for the next week or so, with Spike waiting in Wesley's flat when the man got home, and beer, dinner, and sex filling his evenings quote happily. Neither of them really thought about it much, but if they had they both would have assumed they'd continue along in this vein for a while.

And then Cordelia had another vision.

* * *

Spike was waiting in Wesley's flat at the usual time when he heard Wes' footsteps on the stairs. He got up to open the door, as always, and that was when he smelled the blood.

He was out the door in a flash, and was standing next to Wesley before Wes could even realize that the door had been opened. "What the fuck happened to you, mate?" Spike demanded. He took a second to realize that all the blood was from a wound in his calf and not somewhere that Spike could hurt by holding him before he just scooped him up in his arms, uncaring of Wesley's faint noise of protest.

He kicked the door shut behind him and laid Wesley on the couch, vanishing into the bathroom for first aid supplies. He was aware that he hadn't given Wesley a chance to answer his question, but at the moment he didn't care.

A few minutes later he was back out in the living room, wrapping a bandage around the cleaned and treated wound. It was a nasty cut, done by the claws of the V'sha'ak demon Wes had fought earlier. Spike looked up in alarm when Wes told him what had done it, but Wes assured him that he'd already taken an antidote to the poison in the demon's claws, and that his only risk was infection.

Finally the job was done, and Spike put away the supplies before joining Wes on the couch. "Now," he said mildly, "you're gonna tell me what the bloody _hell_ happened."

"I told you," Wes protested. "We were fighting the V'sha'ak, and-"

"And you didn't tell me why you were there in the first place," Spike interrupted. "Which is what I want to know. Somehow, pet, I have a hard time believing that you lot just _happened_ to stumble on an elaborate ritual sacrifice."

Wes sighed, slumped a little farther down into the couch cushions, fidgeted some. "You're right," he said finally. "We didn't stumble on it. Of course we didn't. Cordelia... she gets visions, messages from the Powers that Be, about people in trouble. They're meant for Angel, of course, but since he isn't here we're forced to deal with them on our own."

"Fucking Angel," Spike growled under his breath. "Fucking good at running off." Pause. "Next time it happens, I'm helping out."

"I can't let you do that," Wes argued. "Not because I don't think you can handle yourself, or because I don't want you around, because I do, but because Cordelia will recognize you, and Gunn too, if Cordelia told him anything about you."

Spike accepted the wisdom of this, albeit reluctantly, but was by no means willing to let Wes take on any more demons like that with no one but a couple of humans to back him up. "There's gotta be some sort of magic that can hide me," he said stubbornly. "Maybe make them think I'm someone else?"

Wesley was silent for a minute, lost in thought as he considered Spike's suggestion. Spike waited patiently, quiet even as Wesley went to thumb through several of his books.

"Found it!" Wes exclaimed a few minutes later, and he limped back to the couch to show Spike the spell he'd discovered. "A glamour. It would cover you in the illusion of someone else. You'd look like that person, sound like that person, and with enough power put into the spell, you'd even be warm to the touch. We could tie the spell to something, like a piece of jewelry, or a stone in your pocket, so that all you would need was a touch and a particular trigger word to raise or lower it at will."

Spike stared at him for a minute with undisguised admiration. "That's bloody brilliant, pet. Bit of a problem, though. Who's gonna do the spell?"

Wesley frowned and sat back against the cushions as he considered. "I'm hesitant to call in a third party, since ideally the whole matter would be a complete secret. I could do the spell- it's not that difficult to perform in the technical sense- but it does require a great deal of raw power, which I don't have."

"But you could get it from some outside source?" Spike wondered. "Say, a vampire who's well over the century mark?"

"You're suggesting that I draw from you?" Wesley asked, and his expression showed very clearly his doubt at that particular idea. "It's an extremely dangerous process, and notoriously unstable, and-"

"-And we don't have a hell of a lot of choice if we want to keep this between us," Spike interrupted. "Don't worry about me, Wes. I've been mixed up in far more dangerous magicks. I'll come out right as rain at the end of it, you'll see. Always do." Wesley didn't look too reassured, so Spike said blithely, "Just get your stuff together, and let's get this thing done."

* * *

The spell actually went off without a hitch, to both their surprise, though Spike claimed that he was never worried. Wes ended up anchoring the glamour to the skull ring that Spike always wore, figuring (rightly) that if he'd put it on a stone for Spike's pocket like he'd considered, Spike would have managed to lose it in a manner of minutes.

They tested it out in Wesley's living room, with Wes curled up on the couch watching and Spike standing in the center of the floor feeling foolish. He touched the ring, said the trigger word- "conceal"- and suddenly there was someone else standing in his place.

Wesley examined the man critically. He had roughly the same height and build, and he was wearing the same clothes, but his face was narrower and softer, with a patrician cast to his features rather than Spike's more angular look. His hair was dark brown, a little bit long, and ungelled, and his eyes were a soft hazel instead of penetrating gray-blue.

Overall, Wesley thought that he'd done a good job. Looking for it, he could see that this man somewhat resembled Spike, but the subtle changes Wes had made to his face, and the more drastic ones of hair and eye color would make it almost impossible for Cordelia, limited as her exposure was, to recognize this particular vampire.

Spike looked up, above Wesley's head, and saw the most surprising thing of all: his reflection in the mirror above Wes' mantelpiece. "Can't have them guessing you're a vampire, can we?" Wes asked when he saw where Spike was looking. "The glamour image always casts a reflection, even if you don't."

Another ring-touch, the other trigger word- "reveal"- and Spike was back to being Spike. Wes had about half a second to admire the view before Spike was on top of him, and then he didn't think about anything at all for a very long time.

* * *

Cordelia had another vision several days later, and Wes used his cell phone to call Spike on the way to the warehouse where a pack of vampires was going to attack a small group of ravers, partying where they shouldn't. Spike said that he was on his way, and Wes hung up so he could concentrate on his driving.

There were more than just a handful of attacking vampires, as they discovered to their dismay when they arrived. There were fully thirteen of them, and Wes felt Gunn hesitate beside him before they both threw themselves into the fray.

It was one of the most desperate fights they'd been in, and they were both blinded by the strobing lights in the otherwise pitch-black warehouse and completely outnumbered. The vampires were toying with them rather than just attacking en masse, so they were holding their own- for the moment, at least. Out of the corner of his eyes Wesley could see Cordelia herding the hapless ravers out of the warehouse, so he knew at least someone would survive this mess, and it was with renewed vigor that he fought the next snarling vampire that came his way.

They'd only been fighting for a minute, thought it felt like hours, when he heard the door slammed from its hinges behind him. Another body plummeted into the middle of the fight, and just like that the tide was turned.

Spike killed three vampires the first ten seconds he was fighting, with nothing more than a jagged length of wood he'd broken off a splintering crate outside. Those three, and the five that Wes and Gunn had already killed, left only five still fighting, and Wes was able to take a second to breathe, and toss his spare sword to Spike. The vampire promptly began to lay waste to the others with a chortle of glee, and for the last minute even Gunn stepped out of the fight, just so the two of them could watch Spike "kick some serious bloodsucker ass," as Gunn put it, watching as he was with open awe.

Spike killed the last vampire with one neat swing of Wesley's sword, which he dropped with a clang before spinning around and stalking over to Wesley's side. Completely ignoring Gunn's presence, he placed his hands and Wesley's waist and lifted him completely off the ground. Wes found himself kissed, as thoroughly as possible without actually using tongue, and then Spike set him back down, wrapped a proprietary arm around his waist, and offered Gunn a carnivorous grin that sat oddly on the glamour-made face of "Will."

The lights flicked on before anyone could say anything, followed in short order by the cessation of the strobe light and the pounding techno music. Cordelia's heels clicked into the following silence as she crossed the floor, and the three men waiting in silence for her to join them.

She walked straight up to Spike, smiled at him, and then smacked him on the arm as hard as she could. "That's for not coming to meet us before now," she said when he yelped and glared at her with injured dignity, then grabbed the hand that wasn't curled over Wesley's hip and shook it enthusiastically. "Welcome to the family, son."

"Don't mind her," Wesley said, with a little laugh in his voice, as Spike slowly pulled his hand free, watching Cordelia warily the whole time. "She's just a little bit insane, is all."

"Yeah, ignore her," Gunn chimed in, then held out his own hand for Spike to shake. "Charles Gunn."

"Will Cohen," Spike said, shaking his hand, and his accent was 100 pure American. Wesley let himself savor a moment of pride in his spell as Spike turned towards Cordelia and said, "And this lovely, if somewhat insane, lady is?"

"Cordelia Chase," she supplied. "Where did you learn to fight? I haven't seen anything like what you did since before Angel left."

"It's in the blood," Spike said enigmatically, which was the truth even if it left quite a bit out. "Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but Wes and I have something to do tonight."

"Yeah, like each other," Gunn muttered, and both of them manfully ignored him. Well, Wes did, anyway- Spike grinned at him, completely unashamed.

"Catch up with you two later," Spike promised, then dragged Wes out of the warehouse.

* * *

Cordy and Gunn were waiting for him the next morning, and they pounced the moment he walked in the door. Both of them poured questions into his ear until he was seriously considering making a run for it and locking himself in his office.

Then Gunn asked the question that Wesley had been waiting for. "Where the fuck did you find that guy? I've never seen any-goddamn-one fight like that, except for Angel. You shacking up with demons now?"

Luckily, Wesley had an answer prepared. "No, he's human. His father was a demon hunter, though, and he was trained from childhood to take his place. He's usually better prepared than he was last night, though- it's not like him to go in without weapons."

Which was, in fact, something Wesley had been thinking about. Why on Earth had Spike just charged in there, without bothering to pick up one of the numerous weapons that were scattered about Wesley's apartment? He supposed that Spike just liked to fight with his hands, but it seemed foolish, even for Spike's hot-headed temperament.

And, oh lucky him, Cordelia had an answer. "He was worried about you!" she exclaimed. "I bet he was just feeling all protective and completely forgot about the weapons."

She went silent for a minute, but this awful smarmy grin was spreading over her face, and Wesley just _knew_ that whatever she was going to say, he wasn't going to want to hear.

He was absolutely right. "It's so cute!" Cordy said. "Some bad-ass demon hunter, charging in all crazy because some vampires were gonna hurt his Wes. Isn't it sweet?" she demanded, but Gunn only made retching noises, and Wesley was already in his office, with the door firmly locked.

* * *

Spike stared nervously at the ceiling as he strode down the hall towards Wes' door. He was late, so Wes was probably home, and he'd have to explain everything the first moment through the door.

He didn't like feeling nervous. It wasn't a feeling he usually suffered from, and it was bothering him that he was feeling it now.

He had reason to be nervous, he defended himself. This wasn't a problem that he could solve with charm, or seduction, or by killing something, which were pretty much his only three modes of operation. But this was different. This was dangerous.

This was _relationship_ stuff.

He stopped in front of Wes' door, struck by the thought. _Were_ they in a relationship?

The door swung open and Wes stood there, apparently having recognized his step in the hall. Spike took one look at his easy, welcoming smile and blurted, "Are we in a relationship?"

Wes' smile, and his composure, didn't falter for an instant. "Of course we are," he said, as if stating the obvious, and then he grabbed Spike's bag and took it off to the bedroom.

Spike shook his head and came in, shutting the door behind him. By the time Wes came back into the living room, the duster was on the coat rack, his boots were on the floor, and he was on the couch with his bare feet propped on the coffee table and a beer in his hand. Wes came over and settled down next to him, nudging his shoulder into Spike's companionably.

"You gonna ask me why I brought a bag, pet?" Spike asked finally. Wesley just shrugged and settled himself closer.

"I assumed that you ran out of money at the hotel, and needed somewhere to stay. Since I don't mind you moving in, I didn't see the point of bringing it up at all."

Spike's tense expression altered, slowly relaxing as a predatory grin took shape. "Is that really a wise decision, pet? Lettin' a vampire in your home, in your bed?" He lowered his voice to an almost inaudible level and purred, "Don't you know that a vamp like me is gonna eat a tasty morsel like you while you're sleepin'?"

"I sincerely hope so," Wesley said, and started to unbutton Spike's shirt.

* * *

The next week was relatively peaceful, with one exception- Cordelia had a vision of a family whose father had been turned and was coming back home for an easy snack. Wesley didn't call Spike till after- it was only one vampire, after all- but Spike was there to help him through the emotional meltdown that followed, and the vampire got out of him the tale of the physical and emotional abuse his father had dealt him, the tale his friends had only ever heard hints of. Talking about it bled off some of the poison of the memories, and that night the two of them just curled around each other and feel asleep in the security of each other's arms.

It was the end of the week when it happened, the thing that Spike had been dreading. Angel was back, and that meant that whatever Spike had with Wesley was soon going to come to a violent and painful end.

When he said as much to Wes, his lover just stared at him for a long moment, then smacked him on the back of the head and told him to stop being such a wanker. Spike allowed himself to be reassured, telling himself that Angel wouldn't find out, and that even if he did he wouldn't interfere, wouldn't mess things up between him and his Wes.

He should have known better.


	3. Familial Problems

**Chapter Three.

* * *

**

Angel kept smelling Spike, and it was driving him crazy.

He couldn't figure out where the scent was coming from. He'd been all over the hotel, and the only place the scent lingered was the lobby, but he couldn't pinpoint a location. There was no one spot where the scent was located- it was just in the air, floating around, driving him mad.

It wasn't until Cordelia started gossiping about Wesley's new boyfriend, however, that things began to fall into place. It all made sense, when he thought about it that way- the way Wes had avoided him skillfully after his first enthusiastic greeting, the way he couldn't figure out where Spike's scent was coming from. Because it was coming from Wes.

Cordelia's description of "Will" didn't fit, but when he went through Wes' office late one night, he discovered that the book on illusions and glamour was missing, and he figured out how they'd navigated that obstacle. The two of them must have met not long after he'd left, from Cordelia's detailed overview of summer events, and Spike had been with Wesley for just over a week, now.

Well then. Perhaps it was time to pay Spike a visit.

* * *

Spike had been in a good mood that evening. Sure, Wes had to work late, but Spike had a nice surprise planned for him when he did get home, involving honey, melon balls, and the leather-lined handcuffs.

And then someone came clomping down the hall, with a heavy footstep that Spike remembered all too well. So when he heard the footsteps stop in front of the door, he wasn't surprised. He was even less surprised to see the door kicked in, and to see Angel standing in the hallway, scowling like they'd discontinued his favorite line of hair-care products.

But he grinned when Angel tried to enter, and was repelled by the invisible barrier that extended across the threshold. "Some-one's never been to see the Watcher," he sing-songed, and grinned even wider when Angel's glare went up in intensity. "It makes me feel all warm inside, to see you stuck out there. You've never been here before, never bothered to come visit the friend you raced over her to defend, and now you can't do anything. Should've stirred yourself to care a bit sooner."

And with that, he shut the door in Angel's face, ignoring the way the catch made an odd crunching noise, and went to call Wes.

* * *

Wesley was working himself into a fine bit o rage as he drive across town. Damn Angel. Sanctimonious prig who was so sure he knew what was right that he stuck his nose where it didn't belong.

So there was more than a bit of stomping going on as he made his way up the steps and down the hall, and the scowl on his face was even blacker than Angel's. "What do you think you're doing?" he snarled, his momentum carrying him within Angel's reach and further, till he was in Angel's personal space and glaring right into his eyes from a few inches away. "What twisted function of your brain gave you the illusion that you had the right to rant and rave and storm about- not to mention the damage you've done to my home."

Angel looked surprised at the force of his anger, but recovered quickly enough and growled right back, "You handed over the God-damned right the moment you slept with a vampire. The moment you fucking well had _sex_ with _Spike!"_

"So you're what, jealous?" Wesley snapped.

"What? No! I'm just-"

"Yes, please explain why sleeping with a vampire in general is less heinous than sleeping with Spike in particular."

"Because he's evil!" Angel burst out. "He's worse than your average vampire. He doesn't hunt for food, or for the artistry of a true kill- he slaughters for the joy of the blood and the screams."

"He doesn't hunt at _all,_ now," Wesley pointed out. "Or have you forgotten? He has a computer chip implanted in his skull that prevents him from harming any living being. I'm safer with him in my bed than with a human lover that _could_ hurt me."

"He could burn the place around you," Angel argued. "He'd do it and laugh as your body charred to ash."

"You're forgettin' something, Angelus," Spike said from the doorway. Both men whirled around to face him standing just behind the threshold with a serious expression that sat oddly on his face. "You're forgetting that once someone is mine, I will make a deal with the Devil and let the world burn, as long as they're safe beside me."

Wesley felt frozen in time, stuck in the moment where he heard Spike's words echoing around the inside of his head, listening to the vow of… something. Loyalty, perhaps. Not love. They didn't love each other, but there was definitely something, something that had led Wesley to confess the sordid story of his father, and something that had led Spike to make the vow he did in front of Angel, of all people.

_Mine,_ the mental Spike-voice echoed, and the moment was broken.

He was across the threshold and into Spike's arms in less than an eyeblink of time, just barely registering the worried/defiant look on Spike's face that had appeared in the time it had taken him to move. Angel made a noise of frustration and disgust as he was forced to stand on the other side and watch as Wesley buried his face in the crook of Spike's neck, and the vampire that Angel hated more than any other smirked at him over Wesley's shoulder.

Wesley didn't turn around, just held onto Spike like he was the man's only lifetime in the world and said, "Go home, Angel. Just… go home, and leave us be."

Angel stood there for a long, tense moment, silently seething, before turning on one hell and storming off down the hallway. Wes and Spike shared a long look, then at the same time they reach out to shut the door, and went to bed.

* * *

The first time the phone rang, Wes didn't pick it up. Nor did he pick it up the second time it rang, or the third, or the fourth. The fifth time it rang Spike started across the room to answer it, clearly with the intent of saying something nasty and probably inventively obscene, but Wesley stopped him before he got his hands on the receiver. It didn't ring a sixth time, because Wes made sure to turn off the ringer.

After Cordelia left a scathing message on the answering machine, Wesley listened with a tight expression on his face and turned off the phone completely.

They stayed comfortably in the apartment for another two days, but after that Spike started to get itchy. A day after that he got Wesley's attention away from some demonic text he was translating, and told him so.

"It's not that I don't live all this time with you, pet," he explained with an attempt at earnestness, though God knew he didn't do "earnest" very well. "It's just that I'd love it more if some of the time we were somewhere beside this sodding apartment."

Wesley sighed and leaned back against the frame of the kitchen doorway. "You're not wrong," he told Spike. "We do need to get out of here for a time before cabin fever sets in completely. You have a suggestion, I assume?"

"There's this club," Spike said eagerly, glad that Wes was listening. "Demons and humans both, but with a protection spell like that place Caritas you were goin' on about. I know clubs aren't really your thing, pet, but you'll enjoy this one, I promise."

Spike was right, of course- Wesley wasn't exactly an avid clubber. But it sounded like fun for Spike, if nothing else, and he couldn't say he didn't want to get out of the apartment. "It's worth a try," he said, and was instantly rewarded by the beaming smile that Spike sent his way.

* * *

The club was fantastic, Wes had to admit. It was a little odd to be surrounded by both demons and humans, but the demons were fairly mainstream, and mostly nonviolent even without the spell, so it wasn't too odd. Even if it had been, Spike was there, and had dug up a new outfit from somewhere or other, and he consumed the whole of Wesley's attention without even trying.

Wesley wasn't much of a dancer, but he didn't have to be, here. Spike had dragged him into the very center of the dance floor, then grabbed his hips and pulled him close. All Wesley had to do was let Spike draped himself over him, and follow his lead. It was hot and close and his pulse pounded in time with the music, and there was Spike with his black leather and shine and Wesley was captivated.

They eventually got overheated and somewhat parched, so they left the dance floor in search of a drink. Both were somewhat reluctant to part, however, reluctant to give up the body-molding closeness, and it showed in the way they walked close together, shoulders and hand and hips bumping and rubbing together.

They'd just made it to the bar when a noise caught their attention. The door to the alley was right by the bar, and even Wesley could hear the grunts and snarls of a fight. They exchanged a glance- Spike's eager, and Wesley's resigned- before they both moved over and Spike kicked the door open.

There was something large and blue with lots of teeth, and two men fighting it. Wesley had just enough time to recognize them as Angel and Gunn before Spike gave a whoop of joy and dove into the fight. Wesley sighed, looked around, saw Angel's spare sword lying on the ground, then picked it up and joined in.

The fight was over in a matter of minutes, with the demon- whatever it was- dying in a messy explosion of sticky goo. Wesley had to stifle a laugh when he saw that Angel and Gunn were splattered with the stuff, while Spike had somehow pulled himself and Wesley safely out of the splash zone, so that not a drop landed on either of them.

A blue-soaked Angel and Gunn just stared at the two of them, Angel looking angry and Gunn just looking a little shell-shocked, and Wesley took a moment to look at himself as they must see him. Wearing boots and his own leather trousers, usually reserved for making a show of things on his bike, and one of Spike's too-small black t-shirts, with a thick silver chain circling his neck. Spike, in paper-thin leather pants that faithfully cupped his crotch (not that Wesley had noticed) and an equally thin leather vest, buttoned only once in the middle of his chest, with a woven leather collar, eyeliner framing his eyes, and his hair standing up in messy spikes.

Hmm. No wonder Gunn looked so surprised.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Angel erupted, and just as Wesley opened his mouth to answer Spike jumped in.

"Were in the club, weren't we?" Spike said, jerking his thumb towards the door behind him where the music could be heard faintly. "Got a bit parched, heard noises when we got to the bar. Prob'ly wouldn't've bothered if we'd known Captain Caveman here had things under control, right Wes?"

"Something like that," Wesley said coolly. "You two had the situation well in hand, which I'm sure is a great comfort to endangered innocents all across the city."

"And that's just as sweet as little lambs frisking in the sun," Spike broke in, "but if the evil fighters don't mind, I'm thirsty and we still haven't ordered our damn drinks."

"Don't do this, Wes," Angel said. "Don't go wit him. Don't damn well _trust_ him. He'll make you regret it in a thousand painful ways."

"Like leaving us to die, for all the care you showed?" he tossed at Angel, then turned on Gunn. "Like hundreds of cold silences simply because I understood the cost of war?" Wes shook his head in disgust. "Why do I even bother with you two?"

"He'll break your heart, Wes," Angel said in a low, intense voice. "Even if he doesn't break your mind and body, he'll definitely break your heart."

"That happened long ago," Wes said. He looked directly at Gunn as he said it, and watched almost clinically as hurt flitted across the man's mobile face. "I'm not worried about it happening again."

Wes watched Angel give up- it was written all over his face- and then snarl, "Your fucking loss," before turning and stalking off into the night.

"I wanna talk to Wes," Gunn said, and when Spike made no move to leave Gunn glared at him and added, _"Alone._"

"It's alright," Wes said, not looking away from Gunn's face. "He won't hurt me."

"Bloody well better not," Spike growled, and glared at Gunn. "I'll be right inside the door," he warned, and Gunn nodded once to show he understood.

Spike's heavy boots thudded on the pavement, followed by the creak of the door hinges, and the door slamming shut behind him. Wes just stood, looking relaxed even though he wasn't, and watched Gunn.

"You'n me," Gunn said finally, "we're not okay. And it doesn't have a damn thing to do with what happened in Pylea. It's about that demon in there, and you fucking him and _lying_ to us about it."

"Actually, he's usually the one doing the fucking," Wesley said, just so he could have the pleasure of watching the pain and disgust spasm across Gunn's face.

"Doesn't changed the fact that you lied to us, English," Gunn said tightly, once he'd gotten himself under control.

Wesley shrugged with a nonchalance that he didn't feel. "At first it was just one night. It knew who he was, of course, but I also knew he was safe, and there didn't seem to be much reason not to. Then it became a regular sort of thing, just sex and beer and companionship. And then I came home after the fight with the V'sha'ak, and he was so damn protective, wanted to make sure I didn't get killed because Angel was a ponce, or somesuch, and we could use an extra fighter. So I put a glamour on him so Cordelia wouldn't recognize him. And then before I knew it, I was in a relationship." He shrugged helplessly. "If I'd known the moment that he sat down at my table that it would lead to this, I might have said no and avoided it all, but I'm not sure I regret saying yes."

"Do you love him?" Gunn wanted to know.

"No," Wesley said after a moment's consideration. "Nor does he love me, I don't think."

"Then why?" Gunn seemed to be lost, not able to understand any of it, and Wesley thought that he honestly couldn't blame the man. He was baffled by being with Spike too, sometimes.

"It's comfortable," he surprised himself by saying. "I just sort of got used to it, and now it's… addictive. He's addictive."

"Yeah, I can kinda get the sex thing, if I stretch my brain far enough into places it doesn't wanna go," Gunn said. "But Angel told me that the bastard's _living_ with you, Wes."

Wesley sighed. "I'm not going to stand out here all night and explain myself to you," he said patiently. "Because it doesn't matter what I say, really. You've already made up your mind that I'm wrong. I'm sure you even had some tearful reconciliation planned, where I would proclaim the wrongness of my actions and beg for your forgiveness, or somesuch. And since that isn't going to happen, I think I might as well just go back inside. Spike's waiting."

"Yeah," Gunn said. "That's the problem." And when Wesley stared at him, letting the impatience he felt show on his face, Gunn added softly, "I was waiting, too."

And that gave Wesley pause, but only for a moment. "As was I," he said gently. "But eventually, I got tired of waiting."

Gunn had nothing to say to that, so he just stood there, and watched as Wesley walked away. Watched as he went back to the club.

Back to Spike.

* * *

They were eating breakfast when they heard the knock on the door. Well, Wesley was eating breakfast- Spike had already have a cup of blood, and he was watching Wesley, mentally calculating how fast he could strip him out of his clothes.

Wesley went to answer it, and there was Angel, and Spike felt the weird shift of déjà vu. He could have heard Wesley's sigh from all the way across the room, even without enhanced vampire hearing.

"What do you want, Angel?" he heard Wesley ask impatiently. "Can we not do this a third time?"

"I, um, came to ask you to come back, actually," Angel said, and looked anything but happy to be saying those words, especially in front of Spike.

Wesley let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You can't be serious," he said.

"We are," Angel said, and yeah, he looked serious. "We need you to lead us. I'm no good at it, even I know that now, and none of the others can take your place."

Spike desperately wanted to say something along the lines of Angel not being good at anything, but after seeing the wondering look on Wesley's face, he decided that his help probably wasn't wanted at the moment.

"I will… consider it," Wesley said slowly. "I think it's something that I can't really decide on the spur of the moment."

Angel looked disappointed, but nodded his head in understanding. "Just…" He paused, looked unsure, and finally said, "We really want you back, Wes," and fled.

Wesley slowly shut the door, then leaned back against it, his expression carefully blank. "That was… unexpected," he said slowly. "I thought that they-"

"Would hate you till the end of time?" Spike supplied helpfully. "Nah. They love you too much. Even the fair Cordelia's right protective of you- gave me the evil eye when she shook my hand that time. Charlie-boy wants you safe and in his bed, and Angel's just a sodding mother hen with fangs."

"Thank you for that charming image," Wesley said dryly, but the tension had leached out of his tall frame. He frowned, suddenly, and said, "I'm not sure you're entirely correct about Gunn, however. Certainly he once wanted that, but in Pylea, just before Angel left, there was an… incident. A band of rebels asked me to lead them against their oppressors, and I was forced to use a small group as a distraction, which was tantamount to sending them to their deaths. Gunn didn't deal well with the reality of that, and things have been somewhat awkward between us ever since."

"That's as may be, pet," Spike said, "but he still wants you. 'Course, he can't have you, 'cause you're mine, but that doesn't make a damn bit of difference to the wanting. He's probably sittin' around, wishing he'd said something earlier, 'cause now he doesn't have a chance. An' he's gonna hate me, and hate himself, and try to make it up to you by pretending he's not upset, an' first chance he gets he'll talk himself into falling for some girl who'll be just like you, and the whole damn time he'll tell himself that it's not got a copper bit's worth of anything to do with you."

"You're quite alarming, you know that?" Wesley said mildly. "You somehow came up with all that from about ten minutes of contact with the man. Someday I'd love to hear what you think about Cordelia, or, dare I say it, Angel."

"I've got lots to say about Angel," Spike promised, "but for now I've got something better in mind."

"Of course you do," Wesley said, and smiled the happiest smile Spike had seen in days.

* * *

Wesley's return to Angel Investigations was considerably less dramatic than he'd expected, all things considered. He came in late the next morning, without bothering to call and warn them first, so he was able to enjoy the look of surprise that was mirrored on all three faces.

Gunn was the first to move. He stepped forward hesitantly, raised one hand, then dropped it as if he wasn't sure what he wanted to do with it. He shuffled his feet, rubbed the back of his neck, and finally said, "Guess who you're fucking isn't any business of mine," and took another step closer so he could give Wesley a manly, back-slapping hug.

Then Gunn was stepping back and it was Angel's turn, and he didn't look happy to be doing this at all. "Sorry I broke your door?" he offered halfheartedly. Wes just looked at him, and he sighed and added, "And sorry for yelling at you." He shook Wesley's hand- no way were they comfortable enough to hug- then said quickly, "But I'm not sorry for yelling and Spike," and ducking away to let Cordy have her say.

Cordelia just tapped the toe of one stylish hell and arched an eyebrow. "I'm sure as hell not apologizing," she said tartly. "I don't like Spike. I pretty much think you're a moron for sleeping with him, much less for letting him move in. But I also think it's your choice, and Angel seems pretty confident that Spike has no immediate plans to kill you or anything, so I'm just gonna say welcome back, and if you die I'm gonna follow you into Hell to say 'I told you so.' Are we clear?"

"We're clear," Wesley said.

"Good," she said, and hugged him tightly. "Now go look at the case files," she ordered when he stepped back. "You _know_ none of us can read half your books."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and tipped an imaginary hat before walking into his office with a smile on his face.

* * *

"Good morning," Wesley said as he came through the door, and was greeted by halfhearted waves from Cordelia and a half-asleep Angel, and a warm smile from Gunn. He poured himself a pot of Cordelia's extremely strong coffee, then grabbed the file she handed him and wandered back into his office, which no one had quite taken over in his absence.

Less than an hour later, he heard the clank of the elevator coming up from the basement, and came out to lean against the doorway and watch the show.

Spike burst out of the elevator as soon as the door opened, a solid mass of vibrating energy and cool control. Wesley laughed out loud as the look on Angel's face, and the older vampire turned angrily towards him.

"You invited him here?"

"Of course not," Wesley said self-righteously. "It was his idea."

"Yeah, and you weren't exactly tellin' me no," Spike pointed out, from behind Angel's intimidating bulk. "Think your words were, 'Why not?' before you bloody well scarpered without even a kiss goodbye."

Both Wesley and Angel opened their mouths to give a sharp retort, but before either could give them voice, there was a crash as some sort of large, black, blobby thing charged through the window. It stood on their lobby floor, waving all twelve tentacles, then opened something that Wesley could only assume was its mouth and let out a godawful shriek.

Everyone winced and covered their ears, but Spike was the one who recovered enough to grab the axe lying on the counter and attack the blobby thing with a snarl and a grin. Wesley watched him and he ducked and dodged and lopped off tentacles, avoiding the random beams of sunlight from the shattered and formerly covered window. One last swing took off the thing's… head?... and he set the axe head against the floor and leaned on it, watching with interest as the head rolled across the floor and halted right at the toes of Angel's black boots.

Angel grimaced and took a step back, eyeing the oozing head with disgust, and the look on his face didn't change much when he glanced up at Spike. Of course, the disgust was probably self-directed, since the next words out of his mouth were, "Spike, would you like a job?"

Spike just shrugged, pulled out a cigarette and lighter, and lit it. He took a deep drag, exhaled with quiet enjoyment, then said, "Sure, why not?"

And that's how Spike became a member of Angel Investigations.


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue.

* * *

**

Angel just didn't get it.

Spike had been working for them for over a week now, and Angel still just could not understand why he had opened his mouth and asked Spike to work there. He just didn't.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been suffering enough already, knowing that Wes was sleeping with him- living with him. That was more than enough to make his head hurt, make him grit and grind his teeth. Wesley was one of _his_ people, and Spike had friggin' well _stolen_ him.

And yeah, if he said that out loud Wesley would do that thing where he arched one eyebrow and just _looked_ at you and made you feel about ten inches tall, so he didn't say anything. He knew he was being immature. No need to do something to prove it, and have everyone laugh at him.

It was just… did Spike have to be so damn _smug_ about it? He'd been a huge help, protecting Cordelia when James, curse his hide, had come for revenge for his precious Elizabeth. OF course, he'd also gotten pretty damn jittery from the fight, and had jumped Wes as soon as the man had walked into the hotel, dragged the (unprotesting) Englishman into his office, and locked the door. They didn't come out for a while, and though they were considerately quiet so the humans could pretend they didn't know what was going on, Angel, at least, could smell it.

Spike was just so… irritating. He had this smirk and swagger that made you want to punch him, and Wesley, who was absolutely the only one of them who had any control over Spike at all, usually would just stand there and laugh at his antics. And yeah, it pissed Angel off, and Gunn too, but then they both had personal reasons to hate Spike. Cordelia usually thought he was pretty damn funny, though, which settled things, because neither of them wanted to cross Cordelia once she'd made a decision.

* * *

If anyone was listening, Cordelia would declare that she thought Spike and Wesley together were icky- though she didn't use that particular word, since she wanted to sound older than six. Secretly, though, she thought they were kinda… sweet.

In a weird, twisted way, of course, but still sweet. Like the time Wes had gotten into a fight with a clawed demon on the way back from dealing with one of her visions, and had come home with his chest covered in tiny cuts that seeped blood. Spike had pounced, of course, and as she'd been walking past the door, she'd seen Spike licking all the blood off his bare chest with the most lascivious smile she'd ever seen, and Wesley had his head thrown back, his face free and easy as he laughed.

Of course, she didn't think it was sweet when Spike went sneaking around and put blood in all the coffee pots, because then she wanted to smack him- and usually did- and it was all Wesley's fault that he was there at all. But Spike never pulled any pranks on her in particular, not like he did Gunn and Angel, just general things that happened to affect her too. Spike respected her- he'd told her so, and she'd had enough practice in the last couple weeks to know when he was lying- but more than that, he liked her. Gunn and Angel… well, both men had claims on Wes that went beyond friendship, or wanted to at least, and Spike wasn't particularly happy with that.

She couldn't blame him, really. For the most part, his pranks were just Spike being Spike, but sometimes Angel would get too obvious about the fact that he missed the time when Wesley thought he hung the moon, or Gunn would watch Wesley a little too closely with a little too much heat in his eyes when he though no one would notice, and then Spike would get snarly and vicious until Wes could get him calmed down. Cordelia didn't think of Wesley as anything more than just Wesley, and that left her and Spike on an even keel.

* * *

Gunn hated the undead Cockney bastard. He hated the blood in his coffee, and the yellow smiley face painted on the blade of his favorite axe, and Angel's hair gel squirted into his boots when he'd borrowed the shower that time. He hated the fact that Spike was a much better fighter than he was or ever could be, and the way Spike would smirk at him right before Wesley's door swung shut and he just _knew_ what they were doing in there, even if he couldn't hear it.

He pretty much just hated Spike, period.

But, he'd promised himself that he would deal with it. Hell, he'd pretty much promise Wes that he would deal, so here he was.

Dealing.

Would be a lot easier to deal, though ,if Spike weren't such an asshole. The vamp treated Cordy well enough, an even got along well with Lorne- though everyone got along well with Lorne, so that really didn't count. Angel Spike obviously hated, though less now because Wesley respected him and Spike couldn't bring himself to _hate_ someone that Wes liked.

Except Gunn. Spike hated _him_ freely and without guilt. He'd made it damn clear that he knew how Gunn felt about Wes, and didn't like it one little bit. Gunn knew exactly what Spike was thinking when he would smirk at Gunn- you had your chance, wanker, and now you can't have 'im 'cause he's mine.

It pissed Gunn off.

* * *

Fred liked Spike. He didn't treat her as if she was insane, just listened to her ramblings and nodded and smiled. He told her once that she reminded him of someone he'd known, years ago, and when she asked him who, he told her about Drusilla. Sometimes he kept her entertained (if a little creeped out) for hours with tales of their exploits in Europe.

Not long after James had invaded their hotel Spike snuck in while she was taking a nap and stole all her wall-scribbling pens, then stood outside the door and held them and her lunch hostage until she came downstairs. She crept down, quiet as cold be, and ended up holed up in Wesley's office, chattering with Spike and shooting nervous glances at Wesley.

She wasn't sure what to think about Wesley. She knew he was a good man- Spike complained about his "heroing" a lot. She knew that Angel trusted him, even respected him, because Wesley was in charge of AI. She knew he was intelligent and a good leader, because he'd been the one who put together the plan that had effected revolution in Pylea. People trust him, listened to him. He understood the costs of war. He also understood books and learning.

All of which were good things, but she was still nervous around him. And then she saw the way he'd smile at her chatter, and laugh when Spike started laughing, and all along he was still researching something, and that was familiar. By the end of her lunch she had decided- Spike was Fun, and Wesley was Safe.

She came downstairs more often after that, because even if she was still hiding in caves, at least Wesley's office had just enough light and no more, and it smelled of books and ink. Spike hid in there too sometimes, usually after he'd done some nasty prank and knew tat Wes would protect him from the wrath of Angel and Gunn, even if he was on his own with Cordy. Spike would skulk around the office for all of five minutes before interfering with Wesley's work, usually by sitting in his lap or groping him. Wes never looked mad, though, just laughed and kissed him and went back to work, and Fred secretly thought that they were in love.

**End**


End file.
